


A Peppery Idea

by magelette



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8887099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magelette/pseuds/magelette
Summary: Anne writes another adventure in her Learning to Cook book, and Diana recognizes that power of a well-labeled spice box.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragonbat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonbat/gifts).



“Just think, Diana – Marilla’s said we can get Matthew’s supper tonight!” Anne’s face fairly shone with anticipation. Practical Diana was a little more skeptical. Her mother had finally forgiven and forgotten that dreaded incident with the raspberry cordial, even if Diana’s own stomach had not, but there were still plenty of other scraps that Anne Shirley could get into while trying to cook a meal. And since she and Anne had only been reunited a fortnight, Diana was eager to keep in her mother’s good graces.

So Diana sat herself at the kitchen table with a resigned sigh, wondering what adventure Anne would scare up this evening. “Is Marilla helping Mrs. Lynde with the Aid Society meeting tonight?” 

Anne looked up from the battered cookbook she was perusing, no doubt dreaming up some romantical feast for supper. “Marilla mentioned something about Mrs. Lynde starting a revolution, but I can’t imagine Mrs. Lynde instigating something that…” She trailed off, her eyes looking heavenward to find the perfect word. Many a boy at school felt weak at the knees when Anne got that look on her face, or at least Carrie Sloane said that Charlie Sloane said that Gilbert Blythe did. 

Diana had heard her mother and the other ladies of Avonlea say plenty about Mrs. Rachel Lynde’s instigations. Father had once said that, had Mrs. Rachel Lynde been born centuries earlier, she would have been a pirate that terrorized ships on the high seas. Diana knew her ‘scope for imagination’ was nothing like Anne’s, but somehow, her mind’s eye could picture this very clearly.

“What have you in the cellar? I know Mother’s been complaining that we have too many potatoes and there’s nothing to do with them.”

Anne’s attention focused back on Diana. “Our potato harvest was rather good this year, wasn’t it? Maybe a nice soup. There’s a bit of broth left from boiling the chicken yesterday, and I know we have some carrots and garlic left…” Now her brows furrowed as she mentally inventoried the contents of the cellar. Mother had once said that she was surprised that Marilla Cuthbert didn’t alphabetize her food storage. Diana, knowing how particular Marilla was about some things – most things – could almost believe it.

“I think Aunt Josephine just sent Mother a new recipe from Charlottetown. It involved some fancy spice that we don’t keep, so she never made it. Do you want me to run home and get it?”

Anne’s face burst into a delighted smile. “Will you, Diana? I’ll go down and see what I can cull from the cellar.”

Diana ran as fast as she could through the snowy winter wonderland. A new dusting had fallen just the night before, so it had covered the entire landscape, from Green Gables up to the Lake of Shining Waters, with a sparkling white blanket. Diana almost got lost in the moment as she hurried over the bridge to the house. It was so seldom that she realized the wonder that Anne’s eyes saw, but she reveled in every fairy-laden moment of it.

Her mother paid her nary a mind as Diana flew through the kitchen door, not even bothering to take off her coat or hood, and began ransacking the little desk at the back of the room until she fell upon the recipe box. Diana’s father had carved the box for her mother as a courting present, and her mother had sworn to fill it only with recipes of love to warm their future home. It was such a romantical notion that Diana almost couldn’t believe her own parents had thought of it. Both seemed too stolid for even an ounce of romance. But Anne swore that even iron-backboned Marilla had an interlude of romance at least once in her life. All this gave Diana eternal hope that someday she would find a tall, dashing hero of her own.

“Di? Are you back so soon?” Her mother’s voice was absent-minded, focused on a new stitch for the hem of Minnie May’s new winter dress. Mother had complained to Father just the other night that Minnie May had grown almost two inches over the winter. Diana wondered sometimes why there were so many years between her and Minnie May. Most of Avonlea had siblings closer to their own age. Had Mother even wanted another child? Had there been something wrong with Mother? She had seemed so old and worn when she was carrying Minnie May. How Diana had hated the baby at first! How Mother and Father had doted on the baby, as if she was more precious than gold. There was a certain pride that Diana felt from the start, since Minnie May had been such a pretty baby, but it wasn’t until the croup accident just a few weeks ago that Diana realized how much her sister meant to her.

“Just looking for a recipe, Mother. Anne wants to try something new for supper tonight. May I stay?”

Mother didn’t even lift her head. “Of course, Diana. Be on your best behavior and give our regards to Matthew.”

Diana found the recipe quickly enough, written in Aunt Josephine’s precise handwriting. She scanned it, but didn’t see anything too difficult. It called for potatoes, onions, garlic, carrots, some broth and milk – all things that Marilla regularly kept in her pantry or her cellar. And it wouldn’t be beyond Anne’s skills either. Provided, of course, that she didn’t distract Diana or vice versa in the process.

Recipe in hand, Diana called farewell to her mother before dashing out into the cold. It was only mid-afternoon, but already the sky was darkening. Winter evenings were so dreary, especially Januaries and Februaries, when all she had to look forward to was school and spring. This time, her practicality won out and her feet flew over the path through the Haunted Wood.

Anne fairly pounced on the recipe when Diana arrived, not even allowing Diana time to stamp the snow off her feet. She scanned it quickly, then looked back at Diana in triumph. “We have all of this! Even…” She peered closely at the recipe. “Paprika? Is that a spice?”

“It’s reddish, I think. Aunt Josephine says makes food wonderfully warm.”

Anne looked mildly concerned. “I thought I saw something reddish in with Marilla’s spices. She’s very particular about what she’ll allow in her kitchen.”

They moved over to the precisely organized spice box, where it sat on its shelf by the stove. “Allspice, Anise, Basil, Bay leaf…” Anne read. “Chives, Cinnamon, Clove…Mace, Marigold, Mint, Mustard, Parsley, Pepper…” She trailed off. “No paprika.” 

“But there’s quite a few unlabeled bottles,” Diana pointed out. “That one’s reddish.”

Anne’s face brightened. “That must be it! Oh, Diana, doesn’t that color remind you of that sunset we saw over the Lake of Shining Waters when we were walking home from school last week? Such a beautiful crimson. Like the veil of one of those harem girls in that Thousand and One Nights book.”

Diana flushed hot, trying not to think of the stories in that book. Ruby Gillis had smuggled it out of her parents’ bookshelf and had read the other girls some of the steamier stories over lunch hour. It was only luck that Mr. Phillips hadn’t caught them reading it.

“The soup, Anne. We should start the soup if we want it to be ready in time for supper,” she gently reminded her friend. She loved Anne more than anything else in the world, and was used to her role as Anne’s earthly tie back to the workaday week.

They peeled potatoes and carrots over Avonlea school gossip, and browned everything in the bottom of the soup pot while Anne described her latest story idea. Diana wasn’t too sure that a priest would be able to provide a special excuse for two heirs of a family not to get married – “A dispensation was what that one story in the Fifth Reader called it” – but Anne always had better scope for imagination than she did.

Vegetables browned and smelling wonderfully, Anne and Diana decided to add the broth so that the potatoes would finish cooking. Diana dutifully whisked together the flour and the milk in another saucepan to form the roux while Anne fluttered about the kitchen, setting the table and toasting the bread with relish.

“Anne, the paprika!”

Anne quickly fetched it from the spice box and brought it to the stove, a look of misgiving on her face. “What is paprika supposed to taste of, Di?”

Diana tried to remember what Aunt Josephine had said. “Smoky was the word Aunt Josephine used. ‘Sweet and smoky, with a hint of spice.’”

Anne unscrewed the lid of the spice jar. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to smell it.”

“Anne, just be careful—“ Diana started, but was too late. Anne stuck her shapely nose fairly inside the spice jar and inhaled a lusty lungful.

And promptly turned bright red, tears streaming down her cheeks as she shouted, “Oh, Diana, it burns frightfully!”

Matthew chose that moment to walk in the door. “Supper certainly smells—“ He stopped, saw Anne, and rushed over. “Anne, what happened? Did you burn yourself?”

“My nose, Matthew! It feels like fire and brimstone!” Tears and mucus streamed freely down Anne’s face, now a pasty white and clenched with pain.

Matthew knelt next to her, putting his arm around her. “Anne girl, what did you do?” His voice was calm and soothing, but Diana could see how Matthew’s arm trembled around Anne’s shoulders.

“She inhaled too much of this!” Diana thrust the spice jar into Matthew’s hand. Matthew eyed it and took a small, delicate sniff.

“So that’s where the cayenne pepper got to!” he exclaimed, almost forgetting Anne’s plight. Then his arm tightened around Anne again. “Oh, Anne, the scrapes that you get into! That’s the pepper that Marilla uses in her poultices when I’ve a chest cold.”

“Cayenne pepper! I thought it was paprika,” Anne gasped, face screwed up in utmost misery. “Oh, Matthew, it burns so! Will it make my nose fall off?”

Matthew chuckled. “You aren’t the first to accidentally inhale a whiff of pepper, Anne.”

Diana tried to think for a moment, relieved that Matthew was there and able to act as the calm and soothing adult in the situation. “Mother made Minnie May inhale some warm salt water when she stuck peppermint leaves up her nose. Would that help?”

Matthew nodded and smiled. “That’s a good idea, Diana.”

Diana heated some water a little on the stove before putting a little salt in it, then handed it to Anne, who dutifully allowed Matthew to pour a dribble of the solution into each nostril. Anne still wept tears of pain, but her face lost its incredibly wretched look. She coughed and wheezed, but finally the color came back into her cheeks.

“Thank you, Matthew, Diana,” she gasped, and then burst into tears all over again. “I swear I shan’t ever cook without some sort of disaster!”

“It isn’t a disaster,” Matthew soothed, leading Anne to the table.

“That’s right,” Diana pointed out. “The soup smells divine, and you didn’t even ruin supper.” She didn’t add ‘this time.’

“It does smell rather nice, doesn’t it?” Anne said hopefully. “Or it did, until I inhaled the pepper.”

Before Anne’s face could fall again, Diana pushed Anne’s hair back from her eyes and hugged her friend’s face to her chest. “Someday you’ll have worked your way through every cooking scrape in the book, and you’ll turn into a fine cook.”

Anne laughed through her tears. “If I don’t write a few for the book myself.”

Diana laughed, kissing Anne’s wet cheek. “Well, you did say that you wanted to write!”

 

When Marilla heard of the incident, she make sure that each spice bottle was carefully labeled in the hereafter. And Anne never took a hearty whiff of anything that wasn’t a flower ever again.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never tried this, I swear. In my case, it was crushed red pepper, and in my defense, I was nine. Though I still wonder if it triggered the lifetime of sinus infections I've suffered and my somewhat lack of smell.


End file.
